


Parchment Wrapped Butter

by Farmulousa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Lyra is a Little Shit, Mother/Daughter Bonding, Parenting a Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:06:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23720557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farmulousa/pseuds/Farmulousa
Summary: This was written forNat (Kumatan). Her artwork is warm and fuzzy and DELIGHTFUL.Hermione is teaching her daughter to consider people's feelings, a lesson some people should have been taught a long time ago.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 23
Kudos: 108
Collections: Bitch Wellington: Kumatan's Smuff Squad





	Parchment Wrapped Butter

**Author's Note:**

> A massive thank you to [MaraudingManaged](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaraudingManaged/pseuds/MaraudingManaged) for her magic touch on this.

“Lyra, could you pass me the butter, please?” Hermione asked in a sing-song voice designed to encourage her daughter into action, but all she received in response was a quiet snort from the stool the other side of the kitchen island. Her daughter wasn’t a bad child, she often found herself repeating, but she was so very like her Father: Lyra Jean Malfoy was a girl who made her own entertainment. But with two brothers, two kind devoted brothers, her entertainment was often just to see how far she was able to push them. 

And, apparently, her parents. “Lyra.”

“Mother, I am already being kept here against my will. I fail to see why I should be forced to help,” she sniffed as two of her silver blonde curls bounced around her face. 

“You have been spending too much time with your Grandfather.” Hermione sighed without looking up. She was only demoted to Mother when her daughter wasn’t getting her way. “Get the butter, or you’ll be stuck in here with me tomorrow as well.” 

The loudest huff of all Wizarding-kind bounced around the Malfoy-Granger kitchen in a way that only an overly-dramatic fourteen-year-old girl could achieve. Yet after Hermione had stretched the dough in front of her further so that it was almost a perfect square, two blocks of parchment-wrapped butter were dramatically slammed onto the counter beside her. 

Hermione often recalled, when she was forced to deal with her teenage children, that she’d really had very little contact with their father when he was at this age. They’d had their run-ins, of course, and he had sneered at her in classes, but she was completely unprepared for the Malfoy predisposition to strop at a moment’s notice. 

“Uh-uh Lyra, come here,” she said, passing her daughter a marble rolling pin that had belonged to her grandmother. “Take this.” 

For the first time in quite a few days, Lyra didn’t look like she was five steps ahead of everyone else. She glanced between the rolling pin and her mother, and then took the wooden handle as Hermione started to unwrap the butter. 

“You see, Lyra, you cannot simply manipulate your brothers into doing whatever you’d like them to. Scorpius may be older than you, but you know that he would follow you off a cliff and you use that to your advantage far too often.” Hermione placed the parchment paper over the dough on the work surface and then placed both blocks of butter on top of it. “I know that it can be fun to get a rise out of Leo. He isn’t as collected as you and Scor, but that means you are far more likely to hurt his feelings.” 

“I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings,” Lyra muttered quietly, now fiddling with the other end of the rolling pin in an effort to still look like she was in control. 

“I understand that; of course I do. But your intentions are not what’s important when you’ve hurt someone. It can feel good to push buttons and get a rise out of people, your father could testify to that,” she chuckled lightly. “But… you have to consider the feelings of others when you’re looking to blow off some steam,” Hermione laid the second parchment wrapper over the top of the butter, confident that her daughter was now ready to learn her lesson. “Also, there are other ways to have fun, you know.” 

Hermione grinned at her daughter with all her teeth to let her know that she was getting to something good and Lyra looked almost contrite - an expression that very rarely crossed her face. 

“What would you have me do then?” Lyra murmured, moving the rolling pin from one hand to the other. 

“I’m so glad you asked love, I’d have you bash the hell out of some cold butter.” Hermione replied as she moved to one side. 

“What?!” Lyra squeaked. 

“Well, you and I are going to make a long, complicated recipe for your brothers’ dinner to show them how sorry you are - which starts with making puff pastry.” Hermione moved behind her daughter and clasped her hands over Lyra’s to show her how to hold the rolling pin. “That starts with this dough,” she gestured to the nearly rolled square, “but it also means we have to bash this cold butter into a similar shape that we can fold into the dough to make the layers.” 

Hermione lifted the rolling pin with both of their hands and slammed it down on the butter beneath, and a huff of surprised laughter left Lyra before she started to really give it hell. Hermione watched as her composed, calculative and cunning daughter, a young woman whose poise rivalled even Narcissa Malfoy, absolutely destroyed the blocks of butter - all whilst laughing and screaming and giving her mother the happiest, widest grin. The girl before her might have taken after her father in every way, but as was the case with Draco, no-one understood her quite like Hermione. 

When the butter was about half an inch thick and about the shape of a square, Lyra put down the rolling pin with a breathless, satisfied sigh. She looked so happy. Hermione thought that maybe, with the introduction of constructive activities that blew off a little steam, she had another six months before she would have to nudge the girl back towards the straight and narrow once more.

“What are we making?” Lyra asked, looking up at her mother as her curiosity finally catching up with her. 

“Beef Wellington.”


End file.
